Isileth's Story: The Cook
by Rel Fexive
Summary: A surprise leads to ill-considered words... and apologies.


The slam of the door, followed by the rapid pattering of feet on the stairs, told Isileth that the arrival of her guest was imminent. A quick and suddenly even more nervous look around the room showed that all was as it should be and everything was ready. She had time for another look all the same, and did so. _Wasn't even this worried at the Temple Of Mythal_ , she reminded herself, _get a grip_.

Sera practically flew up the last few steps into the Inquisitor's quarters but then came to a sudden halt, eyes wide with something between surprise and shock. Her only concession to the request that she "dress nicely" was that her shirt was a little newer than her other ones; the red a little brighter, the threadbare patches less prevailing. Clearly Sera had not picked up the hints about digging out the dress uniform she had worn at Halamshiral; it had looked good on her.

"So..." Isileth began, keeping a hold on her nerves, "Glad you could make it." _Ugh, stupid thing to say._

Sera for her part still seemed to be taking in what she was seeing. The transformation to Isileth's chamber was quite remarkable. The large space in the centre of the room was now occupied by a heavy, square table with room for four but with seats only for two. Upon the table were the usual accoutrements – plates, cutlery, glasses, bottles, candles. The candles were flickering in the breeze coming from the single open door – beyond them, on the balcony, stood a small, metal stove, upon which two pans bubbled and a griddle hissed with cooking meat. The wind carried the smoke from the stove away into the evening air, but even so the smell of the food carried into the room.

Sera's gaze touched upon everything in the room before finally settling on Isileth.

"What the piss is this?" It was about as close as Sera ever got to speechless.

"I wanted to treat you to something nice," Isileth replied, trying not to sound defensive. "Something we could share together, that no one else was involved in, that I could do for you." Sera smirked.

"You can do that for me any time without all this stuff," she grinned. "And no one else involved, yeah?" She looked sceptical. "Did you carry it all up here yourself? Make the table? Prepare the... whatever's cooking? Lay the plates and shit out?"

"Okay," Isileth conceded, "I had some help, and thanked everyone who volunteered to move things. But other than that? I picked out the plates, I chose the wine, I lit the candles and I prepared the meal. Uh, a meal that needs some stirring."

Sera made a circuit of the table as Isileth squeezed through the doors and out onto the balcony. The sauce was simmering nicely, almost perfect, while the potatoes were just about done. The strips of beef were almost ready, too, and then they would go into the sauce pan for the final stage.

"How come you can cook then?" Sera asked, raising her voice to be heard from inside. Isileth could see her lady love pouring herself a glass of wine and refrained from telling her not to. Sera was never going to be one to obey any form of dinner etiquette and Josephine's crash course on such things hardly made Isileth enough of an expert to complain. She was sure they would both be getting the cutlery mixed up before long, and who really cared anyway? This evening was not about that.

"My mother was a baker," the Inquisitor replied, also raising her voice to be heard as she stirred the contents of the pans. "But she also liked to cook. And a few years ago an employer of my mercenary company wanted a protector who could also cook, so I was the one that got the job."

"A mercenary chef?" Sera snorted that adorable laugh of hers. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Handstands," Isileth responded instantly. "Play the lute. Ride side-saddle. Make hats".

"You'd never make it as a mercenary hat-maker-person, then."

"All my hats would have horn holes anyway," Isileth agreed, "and they just are not fashionable this time of year. They let the rain in." She added the beef strips to the sauce and began to stir them in, letting the meat absorb the flavours. A few minutes and the meal would be ready for serving.

Sera appeared in the gap between the doors, holding a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. She smiled at what must have looked like a surprisingly domestic scene, albeit one situated on a castle balcony. The Inquisitor, Herald Of Andraste, slaving over the proverbial hot stove.

"This is definitely a new look," she said. "Aww, no cute little pinny? I was hoping you'd be wearing that and nothing else." Her grin was cheeky.

"It would be a little cold up here to be wearing just that," Isileth replied.

"We've worn less out here before," Sera reminded her with an even naughtier smirk.

"True," Isileth said with a grin of her own. "But now, my lady, it is almost serving time. Get back in there and get ready." Sera had made a face at the 'my lady' but her eyes lit up at the thought of food, so she quickly made her way back to the table. Isileth saw her slip onto one of the heavy chairs – naturally, not the one on the side she had taken the glass from.

The legendary Inquisitor, meanwhile, added a couple of final herbs to the sauce and stirred them in. A few minutes later and all was ready. She poured the contents of the pans into their own bowls and grabbed the serving spoons, holding them under one arm against her side as she lifted a bowl in each hand and went back inside.

"So what is it?" Sera asked. Her face had eagerness written all over it.

"It's a sort of beef stew," Isileth explained, worried that Sera might think it too 'nobby' if she used the proper name. "Seared and then stirred into a red wine sauce with other vegetables for flavour." She put the first bowl down on the table in the space prepared for it. "Served with potatoes." She put the second bowl down and then looked at Sera nervously. Sera sniffed the bowls before looking up at the worried chef.

"Orlesian, yeah?" She made a face, but then winked and grinned up at her lover. "Don't look so scaredy! If it tastes like it smells it could be week old Avaar soup for all I care. Come on, get spooning!" With an audible sigh of relief Isileth began to dish out a decent sized portion for them both before putting down the utensils and taking her own seat opposite Sera.

For a few minutes neither of them said anything as they were too busy eating. It was definitely as good as Isileth had remembered and she was glad she had recalled the recipe correctly. Sera, meanwhile, seemed to groan appreciatively with every other mouthful, whether it came from a spoon or from wiping up stray bits of sauce with a finger. It was not her usual fare but she definitely took to it with gusto.

"So," Sera began after a contented sigh, "what's all this about then?"

"I told you," Isileth replied shortly, once she had finished her own mouthful. "I wanted to do something special for you, for us." Sera watched her for a few moments, her usual impish features set in a rare serious expression.

"While we still can, yeah?" Sera added quietly. "In case we don't come back from trying to kick Corr-fee-teets in the danglies?"

"Yes," Isileth admitted, her expression similarly serious. She looked across the table at her love, like she was trying to take every feature of her into her own mind, as if every inch of Sera was not burned deeply into her memory already.

"You're a cheerful one, aren't you?" Sera told her, a hint of her usual humour in the words. It made Isileth's heart flutter. "You know we're going to hand him his arse on a plate, yeah? He's got no chance when we've got the Chef Of Andraste on our side."

Isileth barked a sudden laugh at that image – wielding a ladle and pan lid in battle – before smiling a little sadly.

"I'm surprised to hear you make a joke like that," she said and instantly regretted it as a frown darkened Sera's face like a storm cloud.

"What," Sera said with more than a hint of anger in her tone, "you think I'm all Maker this, Andraste that, and I can't make a joke about it as well? Too serious, not serious enough?" She shook her head. "Just because you don't have faith in anything doesn't mean it's not serious to me even when I'm not being serious."

"I'm sorry," Isileth said as earnestly as she knew, which was not difficult as it scared her how much she had unintentionally offended her lover. "I didn't mean to insult you. And... I do have faith. Maybe not in the Maker, or Andraste, but... Faith in myself." She frowned. "Well, most of the time. And I have faith in my friends, in the people I care about." She reached a hand across the table towards Sera. "In you. In us."

Sera stared at Isileth for several long, painful moments before her small hand slipped into Isileth's larger one. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before releasing it slowly.

"Too sensitive, yeah?" the elf murmured, tightening her grip on Isileth's long fingers.

"You?" Isileth asked, her voice gentle, while trying not to smile at the idea of Sera being a sensitive soul. Although, in some ways, she was. "Or the subject?"

"Dunno. Yeah? Both?" Sera shrugged and opened her eyes, looking back into Isileth's. There was a sadness there, and fear. Fear like she had seen in Sera's face when Sera had told her about her nightmare of Isileth dying. "Thought you might go on about other gods and demons and shit again. Like before."

"There was another reason for preparing this meal for us," Isileth admitted quietly. "To apologise. It's a... sensitive subject for you and I wanted to say sorry for not considering your feelings when theorising about things I know nothing about." She sighed and shook her head. "And then I go and bring it up all over again."

"I called you an idiot," Sera whispered. They looked at each other for another long moment before Sera's eyes dropped to the table in front of her. The only sounds for a long time were the wind, the flickering candles, and the crackling of the fire in the stove outside.

"Actually," Isileth said slowly, "you said I would sound _like_ an idiot." Sera's eyes flicked back up again to see a tentative half-smile on Isileth's face. "Not the same thing." She gave a sort of one-shouldered shrug. "So if I keep my crazy theories to myself I can at least avoid sounding like an idiot, even if I often feel like one where certain people are concerned."

They were both surprised to find they were still holding hands, something they discovered when they both reached out for the other to find they were already joined. They shared a cautious smile and Isileth released a breath she had not realised she was holding.

"Well, if we're finished," Isileth said carefully, a sentence of many meanings, "I'll clear up a bit before dessert." Standing, she gathered the bowls and utensils together, taking the opportunity to clear her throat of the pesky obstructive whatever that had gotten in there, and very specifically did not see Sera wipe her eyes on her sleeve at all.

"What's dessert?" Sera asked, a little of her customary cheek showing in the way her eyes passed across Isileth, top to toe and back again. Her eyes seemed larger than normal, possibly so they could hold all the hope Isileth saw in them.

"I baked cookies," Isileth said, a smile on her face. "Cookies are good for sharing." Sera smiled in reply, and then cocked her head in thought.

"Have you still got that hat I made for you?" she asked, her hands fidgeting anxiously with a fork.

"Absolutely," Isileth said immediately. She pointed to the shelves behind her desk, where the hat could be seen on the top shelf amid some books. The cookies themselves were on a plate in the cupboard part of the desk. At the sight of the hat Sera made a throaty chuckle.

"I think I'd like to see you serve me cookies wearing that hat," she announced with a big smile.

Isileth gave her an acknowledging bow of the head and turned towards the shelves, but turned back as Sera spoke again.

"...and nothing else, yeah?"

They each looked into the other's eyes for a second, Sera's seeking permission and finding consent in Isileth's slow smile, upon which that familiar grin blossomed on Sera's lovely face. The Inquisitor's hands moved to her collar and she snapped open the fastener there.

"I think I can arrange that."


End file.
